November, 1918 
FOREST AND STREAM 
647 
prise. When we threw back the heavy 
wooden latch and entered, we found an 
equipment as if it had been left an hour 
before. Here was a ten stamp outfit, the 
hoppers full of ore and the crushed rock 
on the aprons. Great rolls of leather belt¬ 
ing were piled up on the side. Tools, dies, 
and machinery were in place or scattered 
about as if the workmen had dropped them 
when the whistle blew for dinner. Jugs of 
quicksilver were standing in the corner, but 
the copper on the riffles had been rifled by 
earlier visitors. The machinery was in sur¬ 
prisingly good condition. Trunks and boxes 
full of business papers and letters were scat¬ 
tered over the floor. From their contents 
it was evident that the business was done 
some fifteen years ago. We climbed the 
wooden ladder that led to the rock chutes 
above, and found ourselves in what would 
be about the third story of a structure. 
Through a track door the rails ran out over 
a rotten trestle, the planking of which was 
badly decayed. The rails led up the side of 
the slope for three-quarters of a mile to the 
mine pit, which was now full of water. 
Here was a car of ore standing on the rails 
all ready to tram down to the stamps. The 
only difficulty now in the way of running it 
down to the mill was that trees as large as 
your arm were growing between the rails. 
On the coal switch between the ties poplar 
trees full twenty feet in height and six 
inches in diameter were a mute witness of 
the abandonment of someone’s financial 
hopes at some time in the past. 
Our guide was in need of some camp 
supplies, so he helped himself to a lamp 
chimney, a file, and an axe. I make this 
record, for the bookkeeper was not there 
to make the e'nliy and this will enable the 
owners to send us a statement of account at 
their convenience. The mill we found later 
had been built some twenty years before, 
the machinery having been toted over the 
ice. Gold had been found in considerable 
quantities, but the operative costs were too 
high. The mill finally shut down and the 
hands were discharged except the superin¬ 
tendent. When the company discontinued 
his pay at a later date, he shut the mill door 
and the plant has taken care of itself ever 
since. It is perfectly safe up there. Al¬ 
though the belting would bring a good price 
at present war figures, no one seems to have 
been interested enough to salvage the plant. 
Nobody would bother to take anything away 
unless it was really worth the effort. The 
moose can use the coal bunkers to warm 
their shins for many years to come, as the 
elements do not seem to have been severe 
on the structure. The place was an inter¬ 
esting relic of commercial hopes dropped 
down in the stillness of the wilderness. 
W HEN one forsakes the haunts of men 
it is sometimes necessary to give a 
valid excuse, but not so much so now 
as in Thoreau’s day. It would be useless 
now to go to Walden Pond to avoid pay¬ 
ment of taxes. A canoe trip is a good 
enough objective in itself, as the physical 
labor of paddle and portage prevents you 
from being dubbed a sheer idler. 
Fishing did not appeal to us strongly be¬ 
cause we were out of the trout country. 
Our friends had told us that the deep lakes 
were full (they are 
always full ) of lake 
trout, but if you have 
caught the big speck¬ 
led beauties in the 
reefs of the north 
shore of Old Superi¬ 
or, lake trout only 
appeals to you when 
the commissary de¬ 
partment demands va¬ 
riety from the usual 
bacon and beans. 
We fished but little. 
One chance however 
could not be passed 
by. We were getting 
dinner at the end of 
the portage. Tork 
and Mack were off 
camp duty that day. 
Tork had pulled out his old briar wood 
pipe that had been tenderly nursed and 
fastened together with surgeon’s plaster 
after some one had 
sat on it. Mack 
didn’t smoke. The 
pool at the foot of 
the rapids was an in¬ 
vitation. He could 
resist the temptation 
n o longer. Rising 
with the remark, “I’ll 
only make just one 
cast,” he strung his 
tackle and stepped 
down to the edge of 
the rock. 
It was worth while 
to linger in such a 
spot. Our table was 
a broad shelving 
piece of trap; the 
dining room was 
edged in varying 
shades of green of the poplar and the 
pine. The kitchen was just as elaborate, 
and the savory smell of the bacon as it 
sizzled in the pan made the onlookers wait 
impatiently for the coming feast. 
The boulders of the river tore the rushing 
flood into ribbons of amber-flecked foam as 
it churned through the gorge. The current 
was thrown directly against the solid rock 
shore of the opposite side, making a back 
eddy that was a delight for a fisherman to 
look upon with keen anticipation. 
Mack threw his spoon into the whirling 
black flood just where the returning eddy 
broke the force of the flow. He had just 
started to recover when his reel began to 
sing and his line ripped through the water 
fully thirty feet before he could check the 
mad rush. Setting the strike to fasten his 
prey, he carefully worked his quarry back 
against the current, but again and again the 
line cut the water as savagely as before. 
Then he tried working his quarry over into 
the returning eddy, to ease the pressure 
somewhat, but “Lucius” with the spoon in 
his mouth knew the rushing current would 
help ease that silent but steady pull. A half 
dozen impetuous rushes of this sort tired 
out the fish, and finally the rod brought him 
to the base of the shelving rock As soon as 
his captor was sighted, the real struggle be¬ 
gan. No monarch of the pool would give 
up the fight and voluntarily leave such a 
home. Mack teased and coaxed his tackle 
back foot by foot. Old Lucius protested, 
stormed, fumed, and spluttered. Throwing 
three-fourths of his long glistening body 
perpendicularly out of the water, as if he 
were standing on his tail, he shook his head 
savagely, like a muskallonge, to loosen the 
strain on the line. Falling with a splash 
that sent the amber foam in spattering cir¬ 
cles, he churned the surface to gain some 
slack. Back and forth across the eddy this 
play went on, while Tork smoked in peace 
and raised his bet on the probable chances 
of success. The dinner was postponed with 
as much alacrity as would have been the 
case if a dog fight had been in progress in 
order to see if fair play was had on both 
sides. It was an exciting moment. 
“What shall I do with him?” cried Mack. 
We couldn’t use him, as we had had enough 
fish. “Bring him in and weigh him,” some 
one suggested; “Tag him and send him to 
the Kaiser by the U-boat route.” 
Mack towed his majesty- into shallow 
water—a fine specimen of that voracious 
freebooter of these wilderness waters—the 
great northern pike. I tried to hook him 
through the under jaw to get his weight, 
but no king of the rapids would submit to 
such an insult, and his demurrer was filed 
midst a shower of spray, in which spoon, 
scales, tackle, fish, fisher, and referee were 
inextricably mixed. Finally we pulled him 
free from the water and the balance regis¬ 
tered full sixteen pounds. 
It was then some job to recover' the 
spoon. The day before I had had some 
experience with his species. In trying to 
extricate a spoon a four pounder had sprung 
his steel trap of a jaw and driven his long 
(continued on page 668) 
The weather beaten stamp mill in the forest 
rie enurned the surface to gain some slack 
